


Robo!Tom

by MissAnonWrites



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Cyborgs, F/M, Gen, Romantic Drama, human-robot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 16:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissAnonWrites/pseuds/MissAnonWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OC’s father bought a human robot to help him around the house now he is old, living alone, and not too mobile. This is the first time the OC has visited her Dad since he got the robot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Hello there. May I help you?"

Instead of my aging father answering his door, I was met by a tall, blue-eyed, softly English-accented young man. I was disarmed, to say the least.

"Um, I’m… I’m here for my Dad… Roger Jameson?" I frown, trying to peek around his shoulders.

"Ah, you must be Sabrina." He opens the door wider, stepping back to allow me in. "Please do come in. Your father is not yet back from his social club."

Oh crumbs. I forgot about that. Thursday night. Palm-face. He won’t be back for another couple of hours.

The tall man moves to take my luggage, and I bristle a little, blurting out, “who are you?”

He straightens, clasping his hands behind his back. “My name is Thomas. I am your fathers home help. You may call me Tom, if you wish?”

My eyes widen in recognition. So this is the robot dad was telling me about! Damn, he looks just like any other human. Soft hair, skin pores, soft lips….

"May I?" he extends a hand out again, to take my bags. "I promise I won’t steal them."

I shake my head slightly, my mind giddy. “Sure…sure,” I fluster, and pass them to him. Our fingers brush lightly. Those can’t be robot hands! They can’t be… they’re warm and gentle and… not cold or metallic or mechanical.

He sets my heavy bags at the bottom of the stairs, ready to be taken up later. “There,” he straightens up, and turns to face me.

"Would you like something to eat while you wait? Apparently I make a ‘mean’ macaroni cheese, or so your father tells me."

____________

"Would you like to sit down?" I ask him, feeling slightly irritated as Tom stands by the door, watching me scoff down the pasta while I sit at the kitchen table.

"Oh, right," he mumbles, and sits opposite me, his eyes darting from my face to the food.

"Want some?" I raise my fork, the yellowy gloop balancing on it.

"I… I shouldn’t really. I don’t… I don’t normally eat with.. with humans."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," he begins, resting his hands lightly on the table, "I prepare meals for your father to eat while he watches sports on the television. Then I make my meal separately and eat when he has gone to bed. He prefers it that way. He told me it was too weird sharing meals with me. That it would be better if I acted as a robot rather than a friend."

A shot of sadness mixed with anger went through me. I didn’t know my dad could be so… cold. There’s no harm eating with Tom!

"Well then," I sigh softly, "you must eat with me. I insist." I get up and find a small bowl, pouring half of the remainder of my food into it, and slide it across the table to Tom.

His eyes widen. “Really?”

I grab a fork from the kitchen drawer, plonk back down in my seat and offer him the fork.

"Definitely."

________________

We sit in a comfortable silence, and for the most part I gaze at his hands and arms that extend out from his rolled up shirt sleeves. He has little moles, freckles, hairs, veins, creases… I find it hard to believe he is a robot.

And yet his mannerisms seem stilted, formal, with little expression. That’s the only thing that makes him… less than human.

He begins to clear our finished meals away.

"Would you like to talk, Sabrina?" he asks quietly. "Humans like to talk, don’t they."

I smile. “I’m actually starting to feel the jet-lag, Tom,” I reply, “although you can talk to me if you like.”

He rushes to me as I begin to stand up, his hands cupping under my arms to help me up. I giggle at his attentiveness, it’s completely unnecessary.

"Do you want me to put you to bed?" he breathes, and I swallow. Can robots be sexy? I didn’t think they could. Jonny 5 wasn’t.

"Umm," I murmur, and begin to shift away from him. "I think I’ll just take a nap on the sofa before dad gets back."

"Right," he says quietly, and follows me into the living room.

I curl up on the sofa, watching as Tom goes behind an armchair and picks up a folded blanket. He walks over to me and kneels down, covering me with the soft cover, giving me a light squeeze.

"Thank you," I blush, and smile, waiting for him to leave.

But he doesn’t.

He just kneels by me, watching me.

He lowers his head briefly, and takes a deep breath, before exhaling.

"Tom…" "Sab…"

We both speak at the same time, making each other chuckle lightly.

"You go first, please," he urges.

"I was just going to ask you what you were thinking," I answer honestly.

"Well, I was going to _tell_ you what I was thinking,” he smiles lightly.

His eyes rove down to the floor. “I have never met a human woman before. The only people I have met have been your father, of course, the postman, a grocery deliveries man, twice, I think, and the minibus driver who collects your father to take him to the centre.”

I swallow, unsure as to what to say.

He smiles, his piercing eyes gazing at mine. “You are very kind to me, Sabrina.”

I furrow my brow a little, in confusion. I don’t think I have been, really.

"You let me eat with you. You even gave me your food. You served the food to me. You asked me what I was thinking. You said ‘thank you’ to me. You asked me if I’d like to sit with you, or talk with you. No-one has ever treated me so."

I briefly shut my eyes. I need to have a word with my dad about this. He should treat Tom well, no matter whether he is a robot or not. I thought my dad had better manners than this.

"Are all human women like this?" he asks quietly, genuinely curious.

I sigh and rub my eyes. “Unfortunately not. But not all human men are like my dad, either. There are nice people out there, Tom, both girls and boys.” I yawn, my tiredness kicking in. “And you deserve to be treated nicely.”

I snuggle into the blankets.

"Thank you," I hear him say, as my eyes start to close.

I feel his soft fingertips run through my hair. I tense at first, then begin to relax. I trust him.

"I will wake you just as he arrives," he whispers, and I nod my thanks.

"I am going to go to the kitchen to read. If you need anything I will not be far."

I smile. I need to get me one of these robots…

"Go to sleep," he whispers, and kisses me gently on the temple.


	2. Chapter 2

My father was so happy to see me. It had been over a year since I had left to study in the UK, and neither of us had really been able to afford to fly me back to visit him. He had offered to use some of the money he had been saving towards buying the robot, but I knew he really needed help while I was away.

We sat in the living room, and I filled him in on what I’d been up to, as well as sharing with him all the ways in which the Brits are different from us. I felt a little sad as it would be lovely for dad to come over and visit, to experience life there for himself, but with his bad hip and leg it would be very difficult.

The whole time we talked, Tom busies himself, tidying things here and there, or striding to the kitchen now and then to replenish our empty water glasses. For a lack of anything to do, he loiters like a butler, never sitting down, occasionally casting a glance at me.

My father yawns, triggering my own yawn, and we agree to hit the hay, with plenty of time to catch up more in the morning.

Tom moves to help dad out of his easy chair, offering him his arm, and slowly helps him up the stairs. I love my dad to bits, but I can’t help feeling sad watching Tom slow his movements down to match my father’s, and I soon hear their footsteps in the bathroom above me. Lord knows what dad needs help with there - I wouldn’t be surprised if Tom helps him undress or get on the toilet. I know my father would say that Tom is ‘just’ a robot, who he paid a large price for, and he bought him to work, to do as my dad wants, but still…

I shake my head, trying to snap out of my thoughts, and head upstairs to bed. I collapse on top of the covers and exhaustion overtakes me.

___________________________________

3:00

Stupid jet lag.

I toss and turn, my mind whirring. It feels odd being back in my old room. And it feels odd having someone new join the family.

I get out of bed and amble, in the dark, to the bathroom. After going to the toilet, I pad downstairs to go make some toast. I see a feint light coming from the kitchen.

The lights in the kitchen are all off. Instead, the light is coming from the patio, where Tom sits at the small wooden table, reading. I can see him through the kitchen window.

I quietly make my toast in the dark kitchen, not wanting to disturb him. I lean against the counter, my eyes gazing at the toaster, thinking. I wonder if he ever sleeps? I wonder if he’s ever left the house? I wonder if he would like some company? Do robots even need company?

The toasts pops up, making me start, and Tom whips his head around, looking a little scared and alert, like a deer. I wave gently and smile, and return to my toast, buttering it with my head down.

Seconds later he pokes his head around the kitchen door that leads out to the garden.

"Are you okay, Sabrina?" he furrows his brow a little.

"Mmm hmm," I nod, "Just … err.. couldn’t sleep, really. Jet lag, I guess."

He hums lightly. “You should have told me. I would have made you a snack.”

"It’s okay, really," I nod, cramming warm toast into my mouth.

"Well then," he nods and smiles softly, "I’ll be outside if you need me."

He retreats and goes back to his seat on the patio. I sigh to myself, and go out to join him.

I notice a cable plugged into his side, trailing down to a socket in the wall. I assume he is charging his battery.

"Is it okay if I sit out here with you?" I ask, and he rests his book on the table. He’s reading The Alchemist in Spanish. "It would be a pleasure," he smiles, and taps his fingers along the spine of the book.

"You know Spanish?" I ask, rather stupidly given that he’s reading it.

"Yes, I have been programmed in all languages."

I’m impressed. And yet, I think sadly, that it must be boring knowing so much already - nothing new to discover or accomplish.

He licks his lips and smiles.

And I look at his lips, and remember that they pressed against my skin tenderly in the evening. I didn’t think robots kissed…

"Can I ask you something, Tom?" I rest my head in my hands, and look down at the wooden slats of the table top.

"Anything," he replies quietly.

"Why did you … kiss me, earlier?"

All is silent. I shift a little, and squint my eyes shut, wondering if i’m about to open a can of worms.

"I read that it’s something soothing that humans like."

"Have you ever been kissed?" I ask, wondering what it might be like to kiss him. How he might react. 

"No," he answers bluntly. "I wouldn’t feel it anyway. Robots don’t feel human emotions like joy or pain."

He sounds a little defensive, and I don’t believe him. I think he’s just been programmed to believe that he can’t feel anything. Because what if they did? Then humans couldn’t treat them like dirt. I sigh.

I look up at him, and he’s watching his fingers as they glide back and forth along the edge of the table.

"Have you ever left the house? I mean, the house and garden - gone out  to the town or another city or…"

"No," he shakes his head, not sadly, just indifferently.

"In that case," I stand up, "I’m going to take you out. Now."

A look of panic crosses his face. “No, Sabrina. I can’t leave, what about your father?”

"He’s asleep, he’ll be fine," I interject. "Just for an hour." 

"Will I be safe?"

"Yes," I chuckle lightly. "You’ll be with me."

He looks nervously back at the house.He runs a hand through his hair, and turns to face me. “Half an hour?”

"Okay, half an hour." I nod. "Stay here, I need to get dressed, then I’ll come back."

He nods, and sits upright on his chair, watching me as I head into the house.

___________________________

I’d asked him if he can ride a bike, to which he replied that he had read how to.

Reading about something and actually doing it are two very different things.

He’d helped me haul two old bikes from the garden shed and wheeled them through the side gate out into the street.

He sits on his and starts to push it forward to move, wobbling unsteadily, knuckles white as he grips the handles. He rides slowly, meandering in haphazard curves along the broad road. I watch carefully to make sure he doesn’t fall.

Soon we are on our way, with me leading, casting glances back to make sure Tom hasn’t fallen off or ridden into someone’s parked car.

We ride to a nearby lake, which is hauntingly quiet and people-free in contrast to the noise and rabble of families here on hot summer days. Light from the moon reflects off the water in small ripples.

We sit on the grassy bank, and I watch as Toms eyes flicker around in wonder.

"Do you like it?" I ask.

"It’s a lot to take in," he replies, glassy eyes roving. "I have seen pictures of things like this but it’s different in reality."

"How do you feel?" I coax.

"Curious," he replies. He rakes his fingers through the grass at his side. "I can hear crickets," he smiles.

A lone owl hoots softly from across the lake. Tom raises his head and laughs. “I have only ever heard that sound on the television. Owls really exist, don’t they?” he murmurs.

"Most things you’ve read about or seen on tv exist, tom," I smile gently. "Except dragons and flying pigs."

  
“Oh, right,” he laughs softly, taking a fallen leaf between his fingers and twirling it. I wonder if he really did think fantastical creatures could exist alongside the owls and crickets.

I look at him carefully. I refuse to believe he doesn’t feel emotions. He seems happy enough now, his face lit with wonder, pondering nature around him.

I reach over and let my fingers intertwine with his free hand. His eyes widen and he gasps. “You’re holding my hand.” he says in a low voice.

"Yes, Tom." I say quietly.

"No-one has ever done that before." He holds up our linked hands, pondering.

"Is it okay?" I ask.

"It’s nice," he smiles." I’ve read about this. Parents hold their children’s hands, lovers also hold hands, and friends too."

"Friends," I repeat, and give his hand a soft squeeze.

He smiles bashfully and draws his hand from mine. “I’m a robot. I’m not supposed to have friends.”

"Tom, who told you that rubbish?" I say, trying not to sound too harsh even though I am seething inside.

"The television. Books. Your father, once. I overheard him talking to a neighbour about me, and how robots should not have friends or lives outside of their owners as it is unnecessary and distracting."

Tears start to well up in my eyes, and i quickly press my fingertips to them.

"Well," I sniff, "putting that to one side, "if you could have a friend, would you like one? If it was allowed?"

He looks out across the lake, and pulls his knees up, hugging them towards his chest. “I’m not sure if it’s allowed,” he murmurs, his brow furrowing. I can see he’s finding it hard to go against everything he’s been led to believe.

"Pretend it is allowed," I press, and turn my body to face him. "Pretend that you are allowed a friend. Someone who you can talk to. Someone who will treat you well, and care about you."

"Robots don’t need care…," he says in a monotone voice.

Exasperated, I squeeze his shoulder and ask him to look at me. He does, his eyes focused and placid.

"Last night, you told me that I was kind to you, and you liked me for it. You are kind to me, and I like you for it too. In the human world, we would call that being friends."

Little creases line his brow, and his eyes look at me with pain. “I’m not allowed to…,” he begins, but I cut him off, throwing my arms around him, squeezing him to me. Again, I am reminded that he is so un-robot-like. His body is warm, and I feel his shoulders move gently as he breathes.

After a moment, I start to feel his arms begin to wrap around me carefully until we are pressing flush against eachother.

"You’re good at this," I say lightly, happily.

"I like this," he replies. "I’ve read about this, too, I think. Is this a ‘hug’?"

I giggle. “Yes Tom, and you’re very good at it.”

He hums.

"If I can’t be your friend," I begin mischievously, "then will you be mine?"

He rests his chin on my shoulder. “I suppose I could.”

_______________________________

My legs are splattered with mud that got flicked up from my back wheel, and I groan at myself. I should have worn trousers instead of shorts.

I trudge upstairs to go clean up, and Tom follows, insisting on helping me.

I sat on the closed toilet lid as he knelt in front of me, smoothing the dirt away with baby wipes, a look of concentration on his face. Once clean, he rested back on his heels and gave a nod of approval, his eyes looking up into mine.

"You don’t have hair on your legs," he states, matter of factly.

I can’t help but laugh. “No, I waxed them all off.”

"That’s a human woman thing, isn’t it," he pushes himself up onto his feet and offers me his hand to help me stand.

"Some human men wax too. Professional cyclists and swimmers."

He guides me out of the bathroom and across the hallway to my bedroom.

"Should I wax my legs too?" he asks, as he strides over to my bed.

"No, not unless you want to," I start to yawn and watch him pull the covers back for me.

"Thank you," I murmur shyly and clamber in.

He covers me and kneels by the bed.

"Are you going to go and read now?" I ask sleepily.

He nods. “I need to charge my battery, too.”

"Oh yeah," I smile, "I forgot about that. Does it hurt?"

"Not at all," he smoothes the duvet across my belly. "Robot, remember? No bad feelings."

"I don’t believe you," I blurt out.

He swallows and looks down.

"I should go now..," he mumbles and starts to get up.

"I think you can feel," I begin, my voice sounding petulant and wild. "I think tonight you felt happy, and conflicted, and bewildered, and free, and caring. I think you felt all those things. I don’t think you just carry out tasks without feelings, Tom, I just don’t."

His eyes level with mine, and he swallows.

We gaze at each other in silence. Oops. Did I overstep the mark a little bit? I think I did…

"Sorry," I whisper, and bite my thumbnail.

He lifts a hand to squeeze my shoulder. “Sleep, human,” he says softly, and stands up, heading towards the bedroom door.

I watch him as he lingers at the door briefly, looking at me.

I blink, hoping i haven’t upset him. I suppose if he’s a robot then he doesn’t get upset… but…

"Thank you," he mouths, then closes the door.


	3. Chapter 3

I went through a roller-coaster of emotions during my stay with dad and Tom. During the days, I would watch as Tom patiently endured the orders from my father, receiving no thanks or reciprocity, and as time wore on, resentment built within me.

However the nights were glorious. I used them as opportunities to treat Tom well - to share a bottle of wine with him, take him out on a night jaunt, or simply sit with him and read for a while. I still couldn’t tell if he had real feelings or simply understood (from what he’d read) that he should react in certain ways to things in a certain way, to feign expected emotions.

I broached the subject one night, when we’d returned from a bike ride through the empty streets.

"Do you enjoy being with me, Tom?" I looked into his eyes reflected in the bedroom mirror in front of me, as he brushed my hair gently. He smiled back, his eyes flitting to mine momentarily before continuing with his strokes.

"Of course I do."

"Then…," I look down at my fingers, "you feel some pleasure being with me?"

I hear his soft voice behind me. “I like you. You are kind to me. You show me new places and treat me well.”

Not quite an admission of emotion.

I try another tack.

"If you were a human, would you have feelings for me?"

The brush begins to slow in my hair as he thinks.

"I daresay I would."

He resumes his normal pace, carefully smoothing away my tangles.

"Would you like to have feelings for me?" I press, looking up, catching his eyes. He sets the brush down on the cabinet nearby, and rests his jaw by the top of my head, sighing slightly.

"You know I can’t."

He tugs at my arms, and spins me around, to begin leading me to my bed. But I stop.

"You can’t, or you won’t?"

His shoulders sag a little.

"As long as I am a robot, I … won’t."

I open my mouth to speak but he continues.

"Sabrina, I have never allowed myself to feel anything from the day I was made. I have never been allowed to feel anything. I don’t even know if I _can_ feel anything. I don’t have a heart.”

His voice is measured and steady, yet I feel my breathing quickening with his words.

"Why would my maker allow me to feel? I have read many human books about love, about loss, about joy and pain. Do you think I could function, do what I have been made to do, if I could feel?

If I have feelings about anything, or any _one_ , what would become of me? What would my purpose be?” He reaches his hands out and rubs the top of my arms gently.

"Don’t you want to find out?" I whisper. He closes his eyes and bows his head.

"Haven’t you ever wondered?" I move closer to him, and rest my hands on his shoulders. "You must feel something. You seem scared."

He smiles ruefully and raises his head to look at me. “Not scared, Sabrina, just thinking about things logically.”

________________________________

After our conversation, I couldn’t stop thinking about Tom. All. the. sodding. time.

He was always _there_.

Cooking our meals, helping to fetch things for my dad, cleaning, answering the phone, pushing dad’s wheelchair when we went out to get some air.

It drove me crazy.

I wanted him to…. I _wanted_ him to…

I wanted to be close to him, and I wanted it to be mutual, human. I wanted to make him _feel_ things.

I wanted him to tell me that he had feelings for me.

And I had a blazing row with my dad, which has never happened before. All Tom’s fault.

The day before I was due to head back to the UK, I had a moment alone with dad while Tom was in the garden, mowing the lawn.

I gently told him that I thought it would be nice if he thanked Tom occasionally for helping him around the house. Then things escalated, on both our sides. I started yelling, saying that I thought dad was rude, he yelled back saying that Tom is just a machine, a ‘computer with a  body’ were his exact words.

He then tried to placate me by saying that I had grown attached to Tom just because ‘he is quite good looking’, which actually wound me up even more.

Not wanting to depart on an argument, I decided to ‘agree’ with dad and let it pass. Over dinner, dad pointedly thanked Tom for getting him some ketchup from the fridge. I’m not sure if he did it to make me happy or to wind me up, but I was glad when the clock hit 10.30pm and dad went to bed.

I stayed up. I grabbed my laptop and fired google up, sitting on the living room sofa. I had an idea that wouldn’t budge, and I needed to see if it would work before I left tomorrow.

_turning robots human_

The top links were sci fi fan fiction. I kept scrolling and clicking and following the breadcrumb trail until I found a newspaper article about a woman who apparently, illegally, can ‘give’ robots hearts.

I read with interest.

She simply buys donated human hearts from cash-strapped hospitals, and uses ‘magic’ to put them in robots bodies.

I raise my eyebrows. Magic? Probably some kind of surgery or electric wiring.

I read on.

She’s not yet been caught.

_Good_ , I muse. We might have a chance…

I squeak as Tom folds his arms on the back of the sofa next to my head, and drops his face to look at the screen on my lap.

"What’s this?" he asks quietly.

I reflexively lower the screen, although I’m sure he’s already seen enough.

"Um, nothing," I stutter, yet he reaches over and firmly prises the laptop screen back up.

"You really want me to feel, don’t you," his voice is level and low.

I close my eyes. “I was just curious, is all.” I let my head hang, knowing that he will just explain, again, in a very logical way, how he is a robot and that he’s doing okay thank you very much and he doesn’t need to feel and it would make him lose his job blah blah

"How much is it?"

My head whips up, and I turn to face him.

"The procedure, how much does she charge?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Are you sure you want this, Thomas?" she sternly looks over her spectacles at him as she puts on her surgical gloves. "It will be a very different life for you."

___________________________________

I’d had no sleep. No sleep and too much coffee. Enough coffee to send me through the slight-heart-palpitation zone and into that horrid brain-numb zone where you wish you could sleep but your body won’t let you.

Me and Tom had sat on the living room floor, discussing the ‘robot surgeon’, into the early hours. I didn’t want him to do it because _I_ wanted him to. Then that would just be him carrying out an order, and I couldn’t live with myself if that happened. So I was tentative about saying anything about it, after he had shown interest. In fact, for the most part, I kept quiet and let him talk.

He told me that he had conflicting thoughts, that he had kept having conflicting thoughts ever since I had arrived.

Logically, he knew that he was a robot, designed to serve humans, with no need for feelings.

Yet logically, he also understood how feelings can help you make better decisions, as well as make your experience of life more interesting.

He told me that he wasn’t sure if he had feelings for me, and I believed him. How could he know?

"I’m not used to making decisions," he said flatly. "I am made to carry out orders."

I leant back against the coffee table edge, swallowing the dregs of my lukewarm coffee.

"What is it like, being human?" he asked, smiling gently.

I almost groaned. Well, maybe not having emotions could be a good thing, the amount of angst you can save yourself…

"It’s… ," I begin, trying to find the right words. "It’s textured. It’s… colours change depending on your mood. You might love or hate something, or someone, at the same time, which makes you feel…."

"Conflicted?" he offers.

"Exactly. And sometimes you’ll do things for no reason, just because you can. Just because you feel like. With no logic."

"I wonder what that would be like," he murmurs, and I smile. "In the interest of discovery, perhaps I could find out."

_____________________________

My dear friend google helped me pin down the city where this robot surgery woman was last seen, and thankfully it was not too far - about an hour away by car. I ordered us a cab, clutched my credit cards and prayed this would go well.

____________________________

We trawled a few bars, asking if anyone knew of where she lived, or where robots might go to see if they’d know where to find her. Eventually we got an address and headed there. I wanted this to be over with before sunrise. We needed to be back home for when dad wakes up.

Irene, her name was. She lived in a small apartment block, and greeted us grimly at the door, already up, lights on, unsurprised. 

Her living area was clean, minimal, bare, only the large dresser in the corner giving hints to what she did. It has rows of small potion bottles, feathers, candles, incense. I wondered if she really did use magic, then snapped myself out of that thinking.

She guided us to sit on cushions on the floor and moved out into her kitchenette.

"This will only allow you to feel," she clatters about, the sound of a fridge door opening. "It will not make you human. You will not age, or bleed, do you understand?"

"Yes," Tom calls out to her, seemingly unfazed.

"Is the procedure reversible?" I ask, just in case he doesn’t like it.

"It is," she scuttles back to us, carrying a small freezer box. "But it will cost you."

________________________________

She instructed Tom to take his shirt off and lie on the floor in the middle of her room, as she started arranging pebbles and candles around him. He looked utterly serene, without a care in the world, while my palms were sweating and part of me doubted that this could even work.

"Hold his hand," she tells me, and I do. Tom lets his head drop to one side, looking up at me as I kneel by him.

"It’s okay, Sabrina," he blinks, "all will be well."

"You might want to look away," Irene mutters, as she opens the freezer box to take out a very red heart. I gulp and wrinkle my nose.

"What are you going to do?" I ask her, looking down at the floor.

"I will open his chest, where this is a space next to his hard drive for a heart. I will need to move some of his wires to accommodate it. Then I will chant, which will join his heart to his system, and I will invoke the spirits to heal him."

I shake my head a little, wondering how in god’s name that will work.

"Thomas, are you ready?" she says quietly.

I open my eyes and look down into Tom’s eyes. “Yes,” he says softly, and squeezes my hand.

____________________________

I felt sick.

I’d closed my eyes as soon as I saw her raise a scalpel to his chest, and kept them closed.

I kept them closed as she chanted, as I heard weird whirring noises and squelching, and focused on holding Tom’s hand.

And it’s a good thing he’s not human as if he was, I would have squeezed off his circulation.

Irene stops chanting, and I hear nothing.

I carefully open my eyes and look down at Tom. He looks like he’s asleep, if a robot ever sleeps, and there is but the tiniest of marks on his chest, where his heart would be.

Irene is kneeling over him, her hands hovering over his body, a frown on her face, and she rocks back onto her heels. She lays down her hands at her sides, and opens her eyes. She gives me the briefest of smiles.

Tom sits up with a start, his eyes wild, panting loudly, looking for me.

He clings on to me and starts sobbing, his whole body convulsing.

"Are you okay?" I ask, and he’s too distraught to speak, shivering in my arms.

i glance at Irene who is clearing away her spell shenanigans.

"Is this normal?" I ask her.

"Yes, very much so," she says seriously. "This is the first time he has ever felt anything. He is likely to be feeling scared, over-awed, needy, in shock, and by the looks of it…" she sighs as she watches Tom nuzzle his head against my neck, "this is the first time he’s ever felt love."


End file.
